


get lost less often

by thistidalwave



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-07
Updated: 2013-12-07
Packaged: 2018-01-03 21:28:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1073254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thistidalwave/pseuds/thistidalwave
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn wanders into the antique shop where Harry works.</p>
            </blockquote>





	get lost less often

Harry is trying to contemplate the topic for his philosophy essay when an enigma walks through the door of the antique shop, tiny bells chiming above his head to announce his presence. 

He looks lost, Harry thinks, this young man with a scruffy face and a slick leather jacket, glancing around the shop like he’s not quite sure how he ended up here. Harry is about to say something, maybe ask if he needs directions to somewhere, when the guy’s face lights up the slightest bit and he makes a beeline for the one lone shelf of old comics. 

Harry watches, caught up, as the guy carefully flips through the comics, reading each title carefully and smiling the tiniest of smiles to himself, a smirk that seems at home on his lips. He’s beautiful, really, is what it comes down to, and Harry wouldn’t mind unravelling him, finding out what he’s got hiding underneath his flawless exterior. He seems like the kind of person who has secrets buried inside him, like treasure just waiting to be found. 

It takes a while, minutes ticking by slowly while the guy carefully picks out a comic, but he eventually comes up to the cash register, comic cradled gently in his hands like he’s afraid he might rip it despite the protective plastic cover on it. He places it on the counter carefully, and Harry makes sure to be just as careful when he turns it over to check the price sticker. He rings it up and tells the guy how much he owes.

“Is it actually worth a lot?” Harry asks, nodding to the comic. 

The guy looks up from his wallet, mildly surprised, and shakes his head. He fumbles the notes he’s trying to get out of his wallet and looks sheepish as he hands them to Harry. Harry counts out change slowly, stealing glances at the guy. 

“It’s, um, my granddad used to tell me about this comic,” the guy says. “At least, I’m pretty sure it was this one.”

“Oh!” Harry says, pleased that he’s finally said something. He has a lovely voice, somehow smooth and rough sounding at the same time. “That’s sweet that you found it here.” He pauses, carefully handing the guy his change and receipt, then chances to add, “Especially since it seemed like you just stumbled in by chance.”

The guy shrugs. “I live nearby,” he says. “Was just talking a walk to clear my head. I’ve noticed this shop before, realised I’d never been inside.”

“Well, I’m glad,” Harry says. “I’m Harry. It’s nice to meet you. D’you want a bag?”

He nods. “My name’s Zayn.”

“Hiya, Zayn,” Harry says, tucking the comic into a plastic bag and handing it over. “See you around?” 

Zayn seems to hesitate, the question taking its time sliding beneath his skin, before he nods. “Yeah,” he says, waving as he starts walking out of the shop. “See you.”

-

Niall and Louis stare at Harry from the other side of the counter. Niall is leaning against it, head propped up on his hand, looking bored, and Louis is chewing gum and blinking slowly at Harry. He feels supremely judged. 

“So, he looked like an angel, and he bought a comic book, and then he said see you, and you think you’re meant to be?” Louis asks.

Harry frowns. “No,” he says. “I don’t think we’re meant to be.”

“Really? Because that’s what it sounded like. Isn’t that what it sounded like, Niall?” Louis nudges Niall with his elbow.

“The angel thing did a bit,” Niall says.

Harry sighs. “Thanks, Niall.”

“Sorry,” Niall says. “He has sex with me, you don’t. I have to take his side.”

Louis looks smug. “You know you’re probably never going to see this guy again, right?”

“I feel like I will,” Harry protests. “We sort of had a connection, I can’t really explain it. Not like, flirting and wanting to fuck or whatever, but like.” He falls silent. Louis and Niall continue staring at him.

“Cool,” Niall says finally.

Harry sighs again.

-

Harry does end up seeing Zayn again, although it takes weeks. If he were anyone else, he probably would have given up on it, but he’s not, and he just couldn’t shake the feeling.

He’s still wearing the leather jacket, but this time he looks sad, lost in a different way than before. He drifts around the shop aimlessly, running fingertips over old fabric and wood. Harry thinks that he could just watch Zayn for hours, days, months--but that’s a bit creepy, so Harry goes over to where he’s standing, staring at a vanity set.

“Looking for something?” he asks.

Zayn shakes his head. “No, I don’t think so.” He looks over at Harry. “Maybe.”

Harry nods. “What brings you back here, then?”

“Nice atmosphere,” Zayn says, tucking his hands into his pockets. “I like old things.”

“Me too,” Harry says. 

Zayn looks thoughtful, like he’s biting the inside of his lip in an attempt to try to keep something inside. Harry can’t help but wish that he fails. Standing here with barely a foot of space between his arm and Zayn’s, he can practically feel the air buzzing with that same connection Harry has been trying to recall for weeks.

Maybe there was a shooting star passing by, because Harry gets his wish. “You know the smell of this shop? That woody, old, warm smell?” Zayn asks, words tumbling from between his lips. Harry nods along with him. “I keep smelling it everywhere. I wake up in the middle of the night and my fucking _pillow_ smells like the antique shop. And I can’t stop thinking about you. I told my best friend about it, and he told me that I probably just want to shag you, but I don’t feel like that’s it. There’s just this, like--”

“--connection,” Harry finishes. “I know what you mean.”

“You do?” Zayn looks at him, eyes wide. His hands fall from his pockets to his sides.

Harry nods. “My friend said the same thing to me. About the shagging.”

Zayn laughs, his entire face crinkling up and laughing with him. “Sounds like our friends would get along.”

Harry agrees, smiling dumbly at Zayn, and Zayn smiles back. The moment doesn’t merely hang between them, but wraps around them, so tangible that it makes Harry feel like he could just lie back and he wouldn’t fall over. 

“Maybe we should--” Harry cuts himself off, starts again. “Do you want to maybe hang out when I’m off work?”

“Sure,” Zayn says easily. 

-

Zayn hangs around for the hour that Harry has until the shop closes, poking around and cracking jokes. It turns out that he’s actually mad funny, and Harry feels almost breathless already as he locks the shop door behind them. 

It’s dark outside, because winter is a menace, and the air is biting. Zayn’s hands are shoved into his pockets again, and he looks a bit like a turtle trying to withdraw into its shell. “Cold,” he says.

“S’not that bad,” Harry teases. He offers Zayn the beanie that’s in his jacket pocket, though, and Zayn pulls it down over his ears gratefully. 

“What’s the plan?” Zayn asks. Harry doesn’t know what the plan is, he hadn’t been thinking that far ahead. He shrugs and starts walking down the street. Zayn follows him.

It isn’t until they get to the end of the street that it occurs to Harry. He glances over at Zayn. “Want to go to the park?” he asks. He gestures at where they would turn.

Zayn shrugs. “Okay,” he says. “But if I freeze to death, my mum’ll kill you.”

“Fair warning,” Harry agrees. 

They walk in silence for awhile, stealing glances at each other and smiling when they catch each other. “Tell me about yourself,” Harry says when the silence starts getting to him.

Zayn looks perplexed, like no one has ever asked him that before. “I’m not interesting,” he says. “I work in a comic book shop, I go to school.”

“Can you draw?” Harry asks.

Zayn hesitates slightly before nodding. 

“See, you are interesting. Drawing is interesting. I can’t draw.”

“Anyone can draw,” Zayn says, looking a bit miffed.

Harry laughs. “Mate, you don’t know the half of it.”

Zayn shrugs. He seems vaguely sheepish, like he’d just been saying it anyway, even though Harry has no doubt that he’s the kind of person who would tell someone the square they drew absolutely looks like a perfect circle. 

Harry’s never seen the park in the dark before--dark is definitely the right word. The amount of trees casting shadows around it make it look positively ominous. “Terrifying,” Zayn says upon walking through the gate, and Harry really can’t argue. 

There’s a lone streetlamp in the park, positioned almost like a spotlight above a wooden bench. Zayn and Harry both head straight for it without saying a word. Zayn sits nearly slouching, arms crossed in front of him, and Harry sits up straight next to him, fidgeting with a button on his coat.

“Did you know,” Harry says, even though he knows full well Zayn doesn’t know, “that when you first came in the shop, I was thinking about that--um. Do you know the Greek legend where everyone was born with four limbs, and then Zeus split them down the middle so we’d be, like, cursed to wander the Earth looking for our other half?”

“Yeah,” Zayn says. “S’Plato, innit? Aristophanes’ speech?”

Harry nods. “I had to write a paper about it for my philosophy class.”

Zayn looks up at him through his eyelashes, eyebrows raised. “What did you say?” 

“I argued for its plausibility,” Harry says. “And I used the red string of fate as an example of the same theory in a different culture.”

“So you believe in soulmates.” 

It’s not a question, but Harry shrugs and nods anyway. “Of a sort, at least,” he says carefully. “Like, I think… maybe we have more than one, or we have different kinds.”

Zayn uncrosses his arms and pushes himself fully upright, scuffing his feet on the ground. “Do you think we’re soulmates?” he asks, looking over at Harry.

It’s so forthright that Harry is caught off guard for a moment. “Uh,” he says. “Dunno. Maybe.”

“Well, the connection thing. It’s something, anyway,” Zayn says, voicing Harry’s thoughts exactly. “Don’t you think?”

“I think so, yeah,” Harry says. His mouth is too dry, no matter how many times he swallows to try and make it feel normal again. “I think you kinda make me nervous,” he blurts out.

Zayn giggles, eyes wide, then stops himself. “Why would I make you nervous?” 

Harry shrugs, avoiding eye contact. “Jus’ do,” he mumbles.

“Wanna know a secret?” Zayn asks, and Harry knows what he’s going to say before he does. “You make me a bit nervous, too.”

“Shut up,” Harry says. 

“No, really,” Zayn insists. “I think it’s the curls.”

Harry can’t help but smile at that. “I don’t think my curls are much competition when you have…” He gestures at Zayn’s head.

“What, this?” Zayn asks, pulling off the beanie. What _was_ his neatly styled quiff is now rebelling, hair sticking out every which way. That paired with his shit eating grin is enough to make Harry lose it.

“Oh God, no, what have you done,” Harry gasps out through his laughter, reaching out and trying to rearrange Zayn’s hair. 

“Don’t bother,” Zayn says, grabbing Harry’s wrist and tugging it gently back down. “I’m just going to keep your hat.”

“Oh,” Harry says. Zayn’s hand is still wrapped around Harry’s wrist, cold fingers pressed against warm skin. “You are?”

Harry can feel Zayn’s breath on his face. “I am,” Zayn says, and then his other hand is pressed delicately to Harry’s cheek, thumb against his cheekbone, and Harry’s heart has time to flutter before their noses bump gently against each other, and then Zayn’s lips are pressed against his. 

It’s not so much a hot kiss as it is warm and comforting, like coming inside during a rainstorm, shedding soaking wet clothes for comfortable ones, and curling up next to the fireplace. It feels impossibly familiar, as if this is the thousandth time they’ve kissed rather than the first, as if Harry is an old comic book that only has sentimental value, found in the most arbitrary of places. Harry feels safe, kissing Zayn in the middle of a park on a freezing cold winter evening, the streetlamp above them keeping away the darkness. 

They break apart, and Zayn rests his forehead against Harry’s, his hand sliding down to hold the back of Harry’s neck. “Found you,” he whispers, the words barely taking shape outside his mouth.

“Yeah,” Harry mumbles, understanding completely. “Here you are.”


End file.
